


I Bet You Don't Feel Lighter

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: Ghost With No Home (Dream SMP Season Two) [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Despair, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Doomsday, Spoilers for 06/01/21 Livestreams, Unhappy Ending, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, canon family dynamics, self deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: There is a crater where L’Manberg once was.Well – it was already a crater, really. Ghostbur couldn’t clearly remember a time when it hadn’t been a crater. But this crater feels bigger, more destructive, more looming than ever before. It feels final. Ghostbur doesn’t like the feeling of ‘final’.--Of all people, Doomsday hurts the innocent most. Ghostbur has a conversation with Phil about what happened, and for the first time in his after-life, he feels true despair.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: Ghost With No Home (Dream SMP Season Two) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026934
Comments: 5
Kudos: 106





	I Bet You Don't Feel Lighter

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh. Yeah, I'm timeskipping in this series. No shade, but I was never motivated by the exile arc. 
> 
> Very light Trigger Warning for the very end line. I intended it as a slight allusion to Ghostbur's somewhat suicidal mental state. It is nowhere near explicit though, so it's very easy to overlook and skip!
> 
> \-- Title from "All Gone" by Mother Mother.

There is a crater where L’Manberg once was.

Well – it was already a crater, really. Ghostbur couldn’t clearly remember a time when it hadn’t been a crater. But this crater feels bigger, more destructive, more looming than ever before. It feels final. Ghostbur doesn’t like the feeling of ‘final’.

The ghost is silent as he stands by its edge, rain lashing at his spirit form. He’s sizzling, but he can hardly feel it, the noise in his head drowning out the hissing of melting soul. Everything is gone. He’s not sure how, or why, but – it’s gone. Reduced to rubble again, without a shred of sympathy for the innocent.

There is screaming in the distance. The fight is still being fought, Ghostbur thinks, or maybe there was never a fight to begin with. L’Manberg was never a war-ready faction – he’d built it on the idea of peace, hadn’t he? The people who attacked it – Tommy says it was Dream, Techno, and Phil, but that fact can’t seem to _stick_ in his head, so he thinks of them as faceless villains – must have known how weak L’Manberg really was.

So, no, there was no fight. Somehow, that makes the pain burning in his chest hurt worse. L’Manberg hadn’t even had a chance to fight back.

His eyes wander over the smoking hole, and a stray explosion in the direction of Phil’s old house makes his entire form shudder with recoil. The noise of explosion is so loud, and so aggressive – Ghostbur hates it, but he can’t understand why. Something in it makes his mind scream panicpanicpanic, and makes his legs want to start running, and he hates it – he just wants the fear to stop. He just wants everything to stop. Why couldn’t they be happy for once? Had his presence not been enough?

(Was he just as much of a disappointment as Alivebur was?)

The sight of the smoking remains of what had been Phil’s home sends a stab of fear into the spirit’s chest, as a stray thought crosses his mind. _Friend_. Oh, God, oh, no. Friend was in there. Friend was – His only friend, he’d –

There is no sign of his coat, or his familiar shining face. Just a smoldering crater, and the scraps of the land he’d once stood on. Phil had – hadn’t Phil promised to take care of him? Wasn’t he responsible for this? Ghostbur feels his chest shudder with his racing mind, and he stumbles to the ground, chest heaving. There is blood leaking from his wound – he can feel it, cold and foreign underneath his sweater. A cough wracks his form, and it comes pouring, rushing forward.

Friend is gone, and it’s his fault.

Subconsciously, he reaches for his blue – but there is none left. It’s all fully saturated. Unable to muffle the tide of emotion, Ghostbur feels himself sob. He hates crying - hates the way his own tears burn his cheeks and sizzle on his flesh - but the tears don't stop. There is so much sorrow in him, desperate to come out, and the spirit thinks he might explode with the sheer emotion.

It’s all gone. Everything is gone again. Why must the universe hate Ghostbur so, so much? Is this divine retribution for the crimes he'd committed while alive? Something up above must hate him, to hurt him so badly. All he’d ever wanted was L’Manberg. A place to be free, a place to be happy, a place for his friends and for his family.

(Apparently, he wasn’t ever allowed to be happy. Something deep within Ghostbur isn’t surprised.)

There is a rustling behind Ghostbur, the noise of something drawing near. He figures it’s Tommy, come to survey the damage, or maybe Fundy or Tubbo, arriving at the scene. The ghost can’t bring himself to look up, drawing in on himself and closing his eyes.

“Hey, there.” 

It’s Phil.

Almost immediately, Ghostbur’s eyes widen, and he rises to his feet jerkily to turn to face him. Something in him starts to panic.

It’s Phil.

He looks filthy, netherite armour stained in something sandy. His hands are caked in blood – something tells Ghostbur that none of it is Phil’s own.

He looks – different. Like he’s just completed a task. Like he’s just finished destroying a nation.

(They weren’t lying. Phil did it. So… why doesn’t he look remorseful?)

It’s Phil.

He’s here, and Ghostbur needs to talk to him.

So he speaks, and he lets himself hurt.

“Phil,” Ghostbur’s voice stutters, and he feels his form shake with the intensity of his emotion. “Why did you do it? Why did you blow up L’Manberg?” His voice is soft, much softer than he’d like. Compared to the storm of grief in his mind, Ghostbur sounds like a kitten.

There is a pause as Phil thinks, and Ghostbur can’t seem to identify the emotion in his steely blue gaze. Phil breathes in and out – once, twice, three times, and Ghostbur suddenly feels sickeningly envious of the motion. It looks so grounding, and yet all Ghostbur has is the burning sensation of a stab wound and a breathing reflex that he knows is useless to him.

“We needed to send a message, Will,” is what Phil replies, distant as ever, and Ghostbur feels something in his heart crack.  
Ghostbur clasps at his sweater as he replies, struggling to ground himself in the world in case he accidentally fades away. The thought of fading reminds him of Friend, torn out of the world, and he looks at Phil with wide, sorrowful eyes.

“You knew Friend-“ he starts, before shuddering once more, “You knew Friend was in your house.” 

He wants Phil to understand his loss, but his father doesn’t seem to react at all, his gaze impenetrable. He starts to explain, with a casual tone to his voice, and Ghostbur feels his heart shatter. “He’s got infinite canon lives-“ 

“You KNEW Friend was in your house!” Ghostbur interrupts before he can think straight, words pouring out of him like the storm that had been brewing for months.  
His eyes flash pure white, and blood is pouring out of him like a river, but he _doesn’t care_. Phil knew – Phil knew what this would do to him, and yet his father carried on without a concern.

Phil seems to recoil at that, but it’s not enough, because he keeps trying to explain – “He’s got infinite canon lives, don’t worry, d-”  
“YOU KNEW!” Ghostbur puts his hands over his ears, trying to drown out Phil’s insensitivity with a shout. His own words hurt to say, and the pain in his chest only seems to keep hurting with every passing second. “STOP, STOP, STOP!” Why won’t he stop already?

He takes a shuddering facsimile of a breath, but it only hurts further, and blood dribbles out of his mouth idly. “You KNEW Friend was in your house.” Ghostbur repeats, and his fingers hook into his own hair roughly, grasping onto the strands in a grounding technique. It’s taking him all of his effort not to disappear, and it hurts so, so, much.

“You knew everything everyone owned was in this town!” L’Manberg is gone, and why? Ghostbur can’t stop the hurt from pouring into his voice anymore. He looks up, and he sees Phil’s stony face once again – for some reason, his father’s apathy hurts worse than any stab wound. 

Phil opens his mouth to speak, to say something else that will hurt him, but Ghostbur already knows he doesn’t want to hear it.  
“I don’t – I don’t, I don’t, I DON’T want to listen, I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” he chokes through the tears, the taste of them salty in his mouth as they dribble down his face. The tears hurt – all water hurts, and the rain hasn’t stopped once. Neither he or Phil react to the melting.

“I’ve read the history books, Phil, I’ve read the history books,” Ghostbur keeps talking, because Phil isn’t, so he needs to make himself clear while he still can, while he still remembers. 

“You - you, you slayed the dragon, you _slayed Alivebur_ , you were the – you, you were the St. George of the Dream SMP.” His breathing is heavy now, laboured with pain even though Ghostbur doesn’t really need or want to breathe. “We understand, everyone understands that, Phil, I-“ he pauses to sniffle, the tears almost overwhelming – “look what you’ve done. How can you look at this and still see yourself a hero?” 

Ghostbur’s hands leave his head to spread wide, presenting the crater to his father. It's a motion he's sure he's made before, but instead of feeling prideful, he just feels hurt. He watches Phil’s breath hitch slightly, but his father's expression does not change. Why isn’t it changing? Isn’t his pain enough?  
“Sending a message, Phil,” Ghostbur asks, voice wispy with grief as he stares his father down,”sending a message?”

There are a good few moments of silence as his father thinks. In a good timeline, Ghostbur wonders if Phil would apologise, or at least hint that he was sorry. This timeline is not a good one, though, because an almost authoritative look crosses his eyes.

Phil’s gaze turns dark, and Ghostbur doesn’t like the sight of it. Still, though, he fights the urge to close his eyes, keeping his gaze steady on the man who’d ruined everything.  
“Yeah,” Phil says, and he doesn’t sound remorseful at all. “Not to – Not to start another government. Not to take genuinely nice, wholehearted people, and turn them against each other with power and corruption. That’s why, Will.” His name – Alivebur’s name, really – feels cold on Phil’s lips, and Ghostbur shudders at the sound of it, recoiling. “I don’t want to see it happen again.”

(Was this always just about government, and nothing more? When did Phil stop being a father?)

“So you make me suffer?” Ghostbur asks, the anger gone from his voice and replaced by blue. He might not have any left, but it is pouring from him, in every sense of the word. “I – I don’t know what Alivebur did, and I’m really trying to remember, but I know what I did, and I just—”

He thinks to his library, broken and destroyed. To the lost history, his lost special interest, blown to pieces and lost to the bombs. To his cozy fireplace, and his little potion spot, and his favourite reading chair, and his – his everything. It hadn’t been much, but it’d been Ghostbur’s everything. He feels his shoulders shudder as a sob makes his voice shake.

“I just wrote books,” he cries, “I built – you remember the lanterns we used to make? I built them,” Phil had used to love making them – Ghostbur remembers very well. They were – they were meant to be a symbol of family. Of peace. Now they’re all gone.

“I… I built a house for people, I – I set up this area, I built this town just like I built Logstedshire, and I’ve watched them both blow up..” He hadn’t even realised he was mourning his old build until now, the place for Tommy that was supposed to keep him safe. Dream had blown that up, as well. 

Phil is silent, so Ghostbur keeps going – he doesn’t think he’s able to stop, now. “And I didn’t – I didn’t, I didn’t hurt anyone, and yet I’m the one who – I’m the one who pays. Tommy didn’t even live here – Tommy didn’t have a house here.” Ghostbur thinks the lesson was meant for Tommy, at least, because everyone seems to be so persistent on teaching him something or other. He can’t quite understand it, really. What lesson is there to learn from trauma?

“I sowed the seeds of peace, and yet I’m the one who pays for war.” Peace. Ghostbur only ever wanted peace. And yet – there is none. Can there ever be peace again, now?

He sees Phil’s blank face remain blank, and he feels his sadness turn to desperation. Taking strides forward, the ghost clasps at the cloth of Phil’s collar, grasp tight on it so his father can feel his emotion, feel the sadness brought out in him tonight. Phil doesn’t react to the motion, his eyes shadowed by something he doesn’t recognise.

“I know I’m forgetful,” he starts, sad tone spilling into a despairing shout, “I know I’m an amnesiac, and I know I’m the comic relief in all your stories, but-“ Ghostbur meets Phil’s gaze dead on, and he knows he is a crying mess, but Phil does not seem to emote at all, and he doesn’t understand _why_ , “but, I still feel this! I still feel things, and I try my best to make sure no-one else feels it!”

Everything Ghostbur has been done is for other people. He’s been as selfless as he can be. So why – why did Phil think it was the right move to take it all away? Why can’t he see how much he’s hurt his family?

They are still for a moment, Ghostbur’s half-melted hands grasping Phil’s collar, before his father moves. Phil shrugs his son’s grasp off, taking a step back and levelling him with a neutral look. Somehow, the neutrality cuts deeper than any look of disappointment ever could.

“I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll understand some day.” With that, Phil turns around, and he leaves. Even Ghostbur can tell that the apology means nothing, not really.

The spirit falls to his knees in the pouring rain, alone.

L’Manberg is gone.

What’s the point in being Ghostbur anymore?

**Author's Note:**

> if ghostbur dies or is hurt on january 10 i will never recover
> 
> as always: if you see a typo, no you don't! <3 stay winning


End file.
